


Inspiration Point

by alienlover13



Series: Camp Cedarwood [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, Falling In Love, Fireworks, Fluff, HP: EWE, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, Post-Hogwarts, Romance, Romantic Fluff, Summer Camp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-04
Updated: 2017-02-04
Packaged: 2018-09-21 23:10:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9570956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alienlover13/pseuds/alienlover13
Summary: It’s been a tough summer for Draco, but he has his friends, and even though he doesn’t know it yet, he has Harry Potter.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [birdsofshore](https://archiveofourown.org/users/birdsofshore/gifts).



> birdsofshore, this one's for you! "Draco at Nineteen" is one of my all-time favorite drarry stories, and it inspired me to try writing him in first person. Hope you enjoy! XD

They throw us a party at our sister camp in the middle of summer. We’ve just come off of a ten day session – of course, I had the youngest, whiniest campers – and I want nothing more than to sleep and scrub the sweat of exhaustion from my body. Instead, we’re required to attend the gathering at Camp Buckeye, and scarpering would definitely leave me with a mark on my record.

So when we’re finally released from the terrible backless benches that populate the open-air Lodge, I stretch out the tense muscles in my back and catch up with Pansy and Blaise.

“Drive us over there, Pans?” I ask, dreading the thought of walking or – god forbid – having to ask other staff members for a ride.

“Blaise is driving today,” she sasses back at me.

“I literally don’t give a fuck who’s driving, but if we don’t get our asses over there, we’re all going to get a demerit,” I hiss.

Blaise slings an arm over my shoulder as a reason to march me towards the sorry excuse he has for a car. “Get in, Draco, and stop whining like one of the miserable small children I was forced to spend time with this week.”

“At least you didn’t have to sing,” Pansy groans. “I think “Black Socks” is permanently etched into my brain.” She takes the front seat, swinging her high-heeled feet up onto Blaise’s dash; determined to spend every last minute in her favorite shoes since she’s not allowed to wear them when campers are around.

I get in the car and stretch out over all three back seats, Muggle motor vehicle laws be damned. My shoulders hurt and if I have to see any insipid other staff members waving excitedly at us, I _will_ scream.

The lulling of the car nearly rocks me to sleep, and we’re there all too soon, backing into a parking space.

I sling my pack over my shoulder and blink uneasily in the sunlight. Potter, Granger, and the Weasel have parked nearby and are standing around talking enthusiastically. See, this is exactly what I meant. I turn and face the opposite direction so I don’t have to look at them.

We file into an enormous hall with entirely too few chairs. I immediately nab one of them and sit down; it has a back, unlike the ones at Camp Cedarwood, and I’m _not_ sitting on the floor or leaning against the wall. My back can’t take it today, and I left my brace back in my bunk.

“So what the flying fuck are we supposed to do here?” Blaise groused. “We could be doing something productive, like catching some rays or something.”

Almost immediately, his question is answered. Sunny, the director of Camp Buckeye, thoroughly welcomes us – and by welcomes, I mean drones on and on worse than Professor Binns back at Hogwarts. I’m almost asleep again, even with the crowd of chattering staff members surrounding me.

“So we have a choice,” Pans murmurs, having listened long after I zoned out. “We suffer through Muggle sports like basketball, make bracelets, go hiking, or participate in more camp songs. Apparently they have different ones here.”

“Kill me now,” Blaise groans.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I bitch. “We’ve been doing this shit all week, with _children_ , and now they want us to _be_ the children.”

“Wake up, Draco,” Pansy scoffs. “That’s how it’s been since day one. These morons are all here because they can’t get _enough_ of this stuff.”

Blaise yawns. “I literally can’t express how over this I am.”

Before we have the chance to complain any more, chairs are being scraped against the ground all around us as staff members from the two camps mix, mingle, and set off in the general direction of the activities.

Pansy spies ice cream. “We’re eating first,” she says firmly, making a beeline for the table where the bowls and spoons are laid out. For once, we’re allowed to take as much as we want, and, somehow, life looks just a little better when you have a massive bowl of chocolate ice cream with a cherry on top.

We mosey outside, but there’s horrible _singing_ out there, so we situate ourselves in the stuffy bracelet making room. I’m actually quite good at this, and Pansy and Blaise roll their eyes as I instruct another staff member on the proper way to make the chevron bracelet. Hey, I couldn’t sit back and just let them do it _wrong_ , now could I?

We sit comfortably – hide – in the bracelet making room until dinner. We’re not really so hungry after all of that ice cream, but it would never do to skip a meal, though, so we head out and attempt to sit at one of the tables near the back. Unfortunately, we’re separated by some nosey do-gooder who wants us to “reach out” and “make new friends.” I’m tempted to brain her, I really am, but Blaise gives me a warning look and so I plop down at the nearest table with a sigh.

Unfortunately I’ve picked the wrong table. I’ve made a very, very bad choice indeed. Because Potter is at this table, and he’s laughing at something one of the wranglers has said, and I’m way too interested in that speccy git for my own good.

“Dragon,” he says enthusiastically, using my camp name with ease.

“Prongs,” I return his greeting, albeit unenthusiastically.

“Do you know what we’re having for dinner?”

“Probably not treacle tart.”

I don’t know why I said that. I’m honestly the biggest fool that’s ever walked the face of this earth. Because why would I give away, to Potter of all people, that I know Potter’s favorite dessert?

But Potter only says, “Bummer,” and goes back to his conversation with the wrangler, who, I notice upon second glance, has a Dark Mark imprinted on her arm. Well. Isn’t that something, to see Potty the Saviour branching out and making new friends, so long as they don’t include me.

All too soon, they’re announcing the start of dinner, and after we suffer through a horrible rendition of the Addams Family grace, the meal commences. As usual, everything is either semi-cold or completely cold, but I sigh and take the allotted portion of everything as it’s passed around the table. Sometime between talking to Potter and now, I’ve found my appetite.

We’re having burgers, and there are not enough buns to go around. How, exactly, does the host forget to count the amount of supplies they need for their guests? I end up making a lettuce wrap, which is actually quite good, though I love bread and could have used the extra calories.

Potter frowns and copies my lettuce wrap, actually complimenting me for coming up with such a savvy solution. I think I’ll die if I ever hear Potter use the word “savvy” again.

By god’s good grace, I’m _not_ the one selected to clean up the table and take back all the dirty dishes, so I skedaddle back to Pansy and Blaise, who – naturally – both sat at tables with buns.

“You’re all a bunch of dirty wankers,” I say, and mean it.

“If you’d suck my cock I wouldn’t have to wank,” Blaise says, completely blasé.

Pansy pats me on the shoulder. “Better luck next time, love,” she says.

They announce the next batch of activities on the schedule before we get to blessedly, mercifully _leave_ , and to my dismay, there isn’t a choice this time. There are only camp songs, camp songs, and more camp songs.

“I’m bouncing,” I whisper to Pansy and Blaise. “If I have to hear another fucking camp song today, I’m going to go bloody mental.”

They’ve already resigned themselves to the prospect. I tell them, “If you leave me here in this godforsaken hellhole, I will murder you both and that’s a promise.” They assure me they won’t leave without me, but I only half believe them.

Under the guise of using the bathroom, I slip out of the dining hall, over the spacious back porch, and down the path, trying not to look too sneaky. I’ve been sweating for ages, but there was no way I was pulling up my sleeves in there. At Camp Cedarwood, everyone already knows who I am so there’s nowhere to hide, but here, maybe someone’s glance could just pass over me without thinking something nasty.

Naturally, Camp Buckeye has large, comfortable cabins with _outlets_. I became much keener on the idea of Muggle technology after I learned what a bloody nuisance it is to have to do everything without magic. Sometimes I can dream about the feeling of my wand; I dream about doing magic, but then I wake up and everything is as a bleak and colorless as I remember the world to be.

I strut past another cabin that looks like the equivalent of a high-rise hotel, at least compared to what we’ve got back at Cedarwood. Week before last, I was sleeping on a stiff mattress on top of a picnic table and that was my bed.

Camp Buckeye is also ridiculously small. In a half an hour I’ve made a loop of the entire camp and have no desire to repeat the experience. I see a trailhead, with a wooden sign identifying “Inspiration Point” up ahead. Why not? At least I can’t hear the infuriating camp songs from here.

This trail is longer probably than the diameter of the entire camp. I enjoy the hike, and the climb accompanying the hike. My back actually feels better when I’m not all cramped up on a horrible bench or chair.

When we were making bracelets, Pansy, Blaise and I heard some of the other staff members talking about Inspiration Point. They said that today was a Muggle holiday, and that you could see fireworks if you hiked up there. I don’t know whether to believe them or not. I’ve never seen fireworks; I’ve always wanted to, but it seems stupid to get my hopes up now especially considering how things have been working out for me this summer.

I pass an old Muggle playset. It’s wooden and has silly little constructions like ladders, bridges, towers, and slides. For the hell of it, I climb the ladder and make my way up to the tallest tower, looking out over the mountain tops. It’s beautiful up here, that’s just about the only saving grace having to do with this experience.

All too soon, I climb back down and continue on my way up. There’s a firepit with some ashes in it, a water spout, and a rusty old bucket. Minimal, but I wasn’t expecting much else. The hilltops are gorgeous, bathed in a golden yellow light, and I enjoy the last few rays of lights as the sun dips below the horizon. Suddenly it’s dusk, and I’m up here all alone in a place that I hate.

I take a deep breath and try to immerse myself in the nature. There’s a long, flat rock in front of me, so I sit on it and look in the direction of the coast, the place where I’ve heard the fireworks would come from.

I sit there for what feels like a long time. It’s still light, but it won’t be for long.

There’s coughing behind me. I spin around, afraid of who I’ll find, and am slightly horrified to feel my nerves calm at seeing Potter standing before me.

“Hello, Dragon,” he says calmly.

“You can call me Draco, you know,” I say, turning back to the horizon, “When it’s just us up here.”

“Draco,” he tries out. “Can I sit with you?”

“I suppose,” I answer.

My rock is the only safe place to sit on the dirty, dusty ground, and so Potter squeezes next to me in an effort to not dirty up his pants.

“I just did the wash yesterday,” he says apologetically. “These need to last at least another three days.”

Against my will, I laugh. Probably because I understand that same struggle.

“Have you ever seen the fireworks?” I ask him.

“That’s partially why I’m here,” Harry answers. It’s different to think of him as Harry, but since I’ve asked him to call me Draco, it’s only fair I stop thinking of him as Potter.

“Oh yeah? What’s the other part?”

“To find you,” he says simply.

“Why?”

“I’ve wanted to talk to you all summer,” he admits. “For some reason, I can’t get our almost-handshake out of my head, even though it happened years ago. I feel like a jerk for rejecting you like that.”

To my surprise, he rotates around as much as possible and proffers his hand. Gazing suspiciously at him, I take it nonetheless and give it a strong shake.

“Can we be friends?” he asks suddenly.

“That was what the initial handshake was meant to establish, a friendship,” I say easily.

“Okay, so we’re friends,” he declares.

Harry puts his arm around my shoulders, and though it doesn’t feel when any of my friends have placed an arm over my shoulders in the past, I let it slide. We sit and watch the horizon together as night finally falls.

“We didn’t see it,” I say, disappointed, when it feels like it would have happened already if it was actually going to happen.

“Let’s give it another ten minutes,” Harry suggests. I rest my head on his shoulder, because my back’s hurting again and somehow it feels natural.

All of a sudden, there’s a flash of light in the distance, and I see a circular explosion with small red pieces branching off in multiple directions.

“Is that it?” I gasp, leaping to my feet. “Are those fireworks?”

“Looks like it!” Harry laughs, and I can see the pure joy and happiness on his face.

There are explosions of blue, red, and white, and I’ve never seen anything more beautiful in my entire life. Tiny silver fireworks that look like tadpoles streak through the sky, others flash brightly and blindingly, while still others fall very sloooowly and remind me of willow trees.

We end up standing there together, hand in hand, watching the show. Even though we don’t have wands and I haven’t learned to do wandless magic yet, this moment is magical.

There are fireworks on top of fireworks in what I perceive to be the climax of the show, taking up the entire sky, bursting into explosions of color over and over again in what I can only describe as a celebration of life. When it finally ends, I look at Harry. He’s still grinning madly, a streak of dirt on his face.

Since we’re friends now, I wipe it away. His expression changes and I wonder if I’ve done something wrong.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” he says, “If that’s okay.”

I think about it. “It’s more than okay,” I decide.

He leans in, and when our lips touch, it’s like I’m experiencing the fireworks show all over again. My body is on fire; I feel alive when Harry touches me. We gently caress each other, holding tightly and giving our hearts in that moment.

It’s over too soon. I regretfully pull away from him, returning the smile he’s giving me with his eyes and his mouth. I kiss him again, just to make sure I can, and, to my delight, he kisses me back.

“I’m so glad we came here together,” Harry says. “Well, not together, but _together_.”

I understand what he means.

“Next time,” I say, as we walk back down the mountain, hand in hand, “I want to be close enough to see _and_ hear the fireworks.”

“Me too,” says Harry. “It’s a date.”

It’s meant to be a promise, and I accept it as such.

“It’s a date,” I echo, gazing contentedly at the man by my side.


End file.
